


Peonies

by slightlyunnatural



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Forget Me Not au, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wisteria AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyunnatural/pseuds/slightlyunnatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on and inspired by butterflychansan’s Wisteria series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peonies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflychansan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflychansan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Forget Me Not](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127754) by [butterflychansan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflychansan/pseuds/butterflychansan). 



It had been ten years, ten years and six months to be exact. Even so, Melissa still startled at loud sudden noises, and tight cramped spaces triggered anxiety attacks on occasion. But she was alive, and she was happy, and she was vacationing with her boyfriend Michael in Vermont for Winter Break.

They liked to hit the slopes early, sometimes right at opening, to avoid the massive crowds that would get there after brunch. Then they’d go sightseeing or shop around main street. They’d grab a late lunch at a different restaurant each day to see which had the best food or the nicest service, and then they’d hike the trails in the local parks. The constant activity was soothing to Melissa, she couldn’t stand staying still for too long. It was perfect. She was happy.

It was mid-January when Michael noticed the flower shop and convinced Melissa to go in, just to escape from the cold. The bell chimed above them as he opened the door for her and she skipped in. She couldn’t help but giggle when she turned to look back at Michael, who was calmly following behind her, the smile sincere on his face.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” a voice called from somewhere in the back room.

Melissa barely noticed in the first place, she was taking in the sight and smell and warmth of the room. It was Michael who answered the florist. “Take your time, we’re just browsing,” he called back, still looking at Melissa. She smiled back at him, then turned back to the plants around her. The room was significantly warmer than it was outside, but the window display was still chilly with the cold pressing in through the glass. There were pots of freshly planted round buds, still green around the bottom with petals ranging from deep reds to the faintest of purple.

“Those are peonies,” the florist had returned from the other room and was standing behind his working counter. “They won’t open up until spring, but the winter chill helps with bud formation. They represent healing and recovery in some cultures, and can last well over a hundred years if cared for properly” he smiled at them from across the room.

Michael took Melissa’s hand and curled his fingers around hers. She looked up at him with a sad smile, glimpses of her hospital room, therapist, and countless pills for mental imbalances flashing in her vision. They were in middle school that summer, still just friends, but he visited her every day in the hospital the week following the shooting. She wasn’t shot, none of the forty people hiding in that tiny office were. But the trauma and shock hit her so hard she couldn’t sleep for a full four days. Any sleep she did get was short lived due to the vivid nightmares of that tall, lanky man opening the door and putting the rifle to her head. When she finally was released from the hospital about a week after the shooting took place, there were reporters everywhere. The shooting was the headlines for weeks, on the television, the radio, even sleazy magazines were publishing junk. Every time it was brought up Melissa was back in that dark office, crammed under the desk. She nearly broke. But Michael was there every day. He stayed by her side and held her when she began to shake. He stroked her hair when her tears rolled silently down her face. Melissa started going to a therapist their sophomore year in high school, and Michael would always be waiting for her afterwards. He reminded her that she was safe, that she was alive, and she thanked him every day for it.

Melissa squeezed his hand tight, then picked up one of the small pots with her free hand. She walked up to the florist behind the counter and placed the peonies in front of him to purchase. The man’s smile was genuine and heartfelt, and after handing back her change he wrapped a ribbon around the pot and placed it back in Melissa’s hands. Just as he was about to thank her for the purchase, the door opened and let in a gust of cold air. In ran a girl, about five or six, and she ducked under the counter and hugged the florist.

“Hi, Daddy,” she chirped to him, before turning and running through the back door and up the stairs to the next floor of the shop.

“Not too loud, Ally,” he called after her, “your brother’s trying to nap.”

Melissa giggled like before as she saw the florist sigh. He looked back at the two of them and blushed slightly. She smiled at him, and wondered to herself why she felt she has seen this florist somewhere before, then the door opened behind her again. She turned around and watched a police officer pull a Hello Kitty backpack from off his shoulders. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold and he looked exhausted, but relieved as well, and he smiled and waved a hello in their direction.

She nearly dropped the peonies, letting the pot slide from her hands and land hard on the counter. She knew that face, that mousy hair that was starting to grey but still sported a buzzed undercut. She knew those tawny eyes. They were the last thing she remembered before collapsing outside the department store when she heard gunfire from back inside. She remembers that face, that had been plastered on every news channel and in every paper. There were already tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she walked, or more appropriately faltered over to the cop, who stood confused, looking from her to her boyfriend and then to the florist and finally back to her. Melissa didn’t know what to say, so she hugged him, or at least tried, because she had begun to fall forward. The officer caught her and they both ended up kneeling on the floor. Melissa was 13 again. She was being guided out from under the desk and out of the office by this brave man again. She heard the gunshots again. She smothered her head into his uniform and wept.

“Oh my god, it’s you.” It was Michael, who had stepped forward when she saw Melissa falling, that spoke first. He spoke quietly, as if he was trying not to speak over the muffled sobs. “You’re Jean Kirschtein.”

The cop, still clearly confused, stared at Michael, surprised at the use of his name.

“Melissa was there, at the shooting ten years ago. She was one of the people in the back office on the third floor. You saved her life.”

Officer Kirschtein looked back at the florist, who looked just as shocked, even worried. Then he looked down again and saw Melissa smiling up at him, tears still flowing down her face. Her sobs have given way to a soft laughter.

“I- I wanted to thank you, before. But I was si- sick for a while. I think we were in the same hospital, I saw repo- reporters when I was discharged. And wh- when I went to your precinct, they told me you left. After all that happened, I wanted- I had hoped to be able to send you flowers or something,” she chuckled, swallowing back the remainder of her sobs. “But it looks to me like you don’t need any.”

The florist suppressed a giggle from behind her, and Officer Kirstein began to blush. Not finding any words, he just hugged Melissa back, placing a hand on her head. Melissa began to cry again, but the tears were from joy and relief. Joy to know that her savior was alive and well. Relief to know that he was happy too. She had seen and heard what the news said about him. She saw what people had done to his home, even after he was declared a hero. She cried because she knew that they had both healed and recovered, and they were both loved.

**In the window display, one of the round buds had begun to open.**


End file.
